


Minnesota Nice

by eatdirt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: D/s themes, M/M, Public Sex, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 22:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19118644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eatdirt/pseuds/eatdirt
Summary: Dean doesn’tneedit, not the way you’d think.It’s just a thing he and Sam do, and he figures if it’s never talked about it can’t be considered all that big a deal.





	Minnesota Nice

**Author's Note:**

> A repost of a fic I [sadly orphaned years ago before I realized antis don't matter.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030086)

Dean doesn’t _need_ , not the way you’d think.

It’s just a thing he and Sam do, and he figures if it’s never talked about it can’t be considered all that big a deal. 

Like now, when they’re in another nameless hotel room in another nameless city. Sam only looks up at him briefly before turning back to his laptop. “We’ve got to interview the Stewarts today. Shower, shave, and get dressed. Wear the blue tie.”

Dean nods automatically but Sam’s not even looking at him anymore. He shuffles to his duffle bag and pulls out his monkey suit and the little blue tie folded with the rest neatly in the side. For a moment he thinks to ask what suit he should wear, or if the black leather shoes are okay, but Sam only told him to wear the tie so he doesn’t ask any questions, just slips into the bathroom quick and quiet.

It’s going to be one of those days, then.

_______

The Stewarts turn out to be a bust, but they were pretty doubtful about the lead anyway. Still, Dean just wouldn’t be Dean if he didn’t complain about it, and Sam wouldn’t be Sam if he didn’t roll his eyes and pull into the nearest diner to pacify his brother.

The waitress that serves them is a pretty young thing, maybe a bit too young, but Dean’s always figured there’s no harm in just looking. He flashes her his best smile when she walks up to take their order, and grins even wider when she flushes and ducks prettily, her high blonde ponytail brushing against her pretty pink cheeks.

“I’ll have the summer salad, no dressing, and an iced tea, please,” Sam says with a polite smile. Dean notices with a bit of big brother exasperation that he’s not even checking out her rack.

The waitress jots down Sam’s order and turns to Dean with a coy, expectant smile on her face. The easy flirtatious buzz in his belly is suddenly replaced with an anxious flutter and his knee starts bouncing nervously under the table. He turns to look at Sam with wide, questioning eyes before he even knows what he’s doing.

Sam doesn’t miss a beat. “He’ll have the double bacon cheeseburger—no onions, extra tomato—caesar salad with fat-free Italian dressing, and water, please.”

Dean wrinkles his nose at the salad and water—he hates fat-free Italian, Sam _knows_ that—but he keeps quiet and avoids the waitress’s confused gaze as she hesitantly writes the order down.

After she leaves, Dean feels a little bit like complaining. It’s still sort of new, this thing they’ve fallen into, but the whole ordering for him thing is especially fresh. It annoys him a little, being ordered for like some little kid or some chick on a date, but it also gives him an undeniable sense of warmth and tenderness. The stuff Sam does for him now, being taken care of--being owned out in the open for everyone to see, even if “everyone” is just a busty little waitress in a rinky-dink diner in Chattanooga, Tennessee.

Still, he’s got his old-fashioned stubborn Winchester pride, and the back of his neck feels hot with embarrassment and a little something else. He licks his lips and opens his mouth to tell Sam he’s perfectly capable of ordering for himself, thank you very much little brother, but at Sam’s questioning eyebrow quirk he shuts his mouth with an audible click and looks back down at the stained table top. He can feel Sam’s eyes trained on him, intently looking for hints of anything wrong, He could complain, Sam would listen to him, probably apologize even, but he doesn’t. 

After a few beats, Sam launches into monologue details overlooked in their current case. Dean keeps his mouth shut and answers direct questions obediently while giving the occasional snarky comment. For all he wants to brick-lay his pride, he wants to be good for Sam even more.

When the waitress comes back with their orders, and the smell of mouth-watering burger almost canceling out the unappealing look of the limp salad. Dean waits patiently for Sam to give him a nod of permission before he digs in. He gobbles up everything on his plate, limp salad with gross dressing and all, and shovels in his greasy burger like he’s dying for it. Sam makes a half annoyed, half amused sound and Dean flashes him an open-mouth grin.

When he’s done he sits quietly and watches Sam eat his salad, deliberately but not mockingly slowly, and feels his face split into a huge grin when Sam calls the waitress back over to order a slice of cherry pie.

The pie is like heaven, but the look of pride on Sam’s face that says You did such a good job for me is even better.

_______

Three days later they’re driving up through the Heartland when they stop to gank a poltergeist in Golden Valley, MN. It’s one of the good hunts where the thing is iced in under a week and no one dies. Dean’s still buzzing from it when they leave, that pumped up hero’s adrenaline running so high even the motel’s shitty water pressure can’t dull it down.

Sam rolls his eyes as Dean practically bounces from the room to the car, stopping only to give a wink to the pretty secretary and giddily try to trip up Sam. His bones feel heavy with sleep, and he’s in such a good mood that he tosses the keys to Sam and tells him he can have the wheel until they get to Colorado. Sam pulls one of his classic bitchfaces and complains about how You’re not the only one who’s tired, Dean, but the content smile on his face gives him away and all Dean does is smile at his profile until his eyes close heavily somewhere outside the city limits.

Dean’s been awake from his cramped nap for about ten minutes before Sam pulls over into the shoulder of a Sauk Centre highway and kills the engine. The road is silent and dusty with the dull orange glow of a Midwest sunset, and Dean feels his eyes snap wide to scan across the road. His breath hitches in his throat and his skin feels tighter and hotter stretched around his bones, hunter’s instinct making him hyper alert.

Sam turns to him calmly and places a heavy hand on the back of Dean’s neck, loose but solid. Dean instantly snaps to focus his attention wholly on Sam. He’s still slightly disoriented with sleep, but Dean knows what that hand means, what’s expected of him. It makes him feel a little more grounded, a little less like he’s going to snap at the hinges or float away.

“Suck me, Dean,” Sam says, and Dean scrambles to get his hands on Sam’s belt, taking it as the command it is. Only seconds after Dean’s hands connect with the cool metal of Sam’s buckle he’s being tugged backward by his hair, not hard enough to hurt but just enough to reel him back. He almost wants to growl out in frustration, but the look Sam pins him with is no-nonsense, and Dean snaps his jaw shut on a protest.

“Get out of the car. Come to my side and get on your knees,” Sam elaborates as he drops his hand from Dean’s hair. Dean’s heart stutters and picks up the tempo in his chest. A heatwave flush warms him all over and before he can think too much about it—before he can let that stubborn indignation flame up in him or think about how they’re out here where anyone can see—he’s opening the car door and rushing over to the driver’s side on unsteady legs.

Sam opens the door slowly and shifts around in his seat, long legs unfolding from the cramped driver’s bedside and planting heavily on the ground. Dean wastes no time dropping to the ground, gravel crunching under his knees sounding impossibly loud on near the silent road. Sam stares down at him with warm affection in his dark eyes, and Dean is momentarily struck dumb by how stunning his brother is. The space he’s in, the space he gets in when Sam treats him like this, makes the emotions spiking up in his chest feel overwhelming to the point he has to drop his eyes quickly to avoid saying or doing something stupid.

Sam beckons him closer with a hand and Dean shuffles forward obediently, quick and submissive on dirty, aching knees on a dusty Minnesota highway. Sam places his hand high on his own thigh, long fingers brushing the seam of his crotch. Dean gets the message nice and clear and fumbles with Sam’s buckle again with nervous, eager hands.

Sam isn’t even hard yet when Dean takes him out, and for some reason that spikes pleasure sharp in Dean’s gut. Sam’s not hard, because this isn’t for him. He knew his brother would need this. Sam knows what Dean needs before Dean has even thought to want it.

He licks his lips and steels himself, looks up at Sam for confirmation which Sam gives him with a quick nod, and then Dean’s on him, dignity be damned.

It’s wet and messy; Dean slurps loudly to bring Sam to hardness and is rewarded with a soft _God, Dean_ , which warms him from head to toe and makes him want to say something stupid, like _Nope, just me_. But he doesn’t. Only chokes that fat cock down until it tickles his throat and earns him belly-shaking groan.

By the time Sam is hard in his mouth, precome leaking bitter and addictive on his tongue, Dean’s aching to touch himself and relieve some of the steadily building pressure on his confined cock, but he doesn’t.

Sam didn’t tell him he could.

Eventually, Sam grabs him by the hair again in a secure grip and brings his other hand to grip his jaw tightly. Dean’s hazy, lust-filled mind takes a few seconds to register the feeling but as soon as it clicks he stops moving his head and lets his jaw go slack. Sam whispers soft praise before his hips are pistoning up, shoving his cock down Dean’s throat in long strokes. Dean chokes and flails at first, causing Sam to slow to a stop, but then Dean’s gripping Sam’s hips again, asking him silently for _more, please, Sammy, more_ , and Sam’s back to shoving his cock in, choking Dean and making a mess of him, and Dean moans and whimpers for it.

His mind is buzzing on a high so he doesn’t know how much time has passed before Sam pulls back and slips his spit-soaked cock out of his mouth. Dean whimpers pathetically at the loss, way past the point of keeping up appearances. Dazedly, he watches Sam take himself in hand and strip his cock in fast, blurred motions. The sight is hot, just plain fucking hot, and Dean whimpers with need even as Sam stills and shoots hot stripes of come across his face.

It’s unexpected, even though Dean logically knew it was coming, and he gasps as he feels splatters of come decorate his face. He only belatedly remembers to close his eyes right when he feels a hit right beside his eye. His eyes are still closed when Sam murmurs something intelligible and starts to work Dean’s aching, neglected cock through rough jeans. Then it hits him full-on that Sam, his baby brother Sammy, just spilled his load right over his face right on a Minnesota highway, and he’s coming with a strangled moan, right in his pants.

Sam is whispering little words of praise as he cups his face. He’s so close that Dean can feel warm puffs of breath against his lips, and he knows that if he opens his eyes now and sees Sam looking at him, looking at the mess he’s made of his big shot older brother with that warm, loving look he always has after this, he’ll just lose it. He screws his eyes shut closer, edging between agony and ecstasy. 

Sam whispers _Open your eyes, Dean,_ and he does without a moment's hesitation. Sam’s eyes are a dark, hazel turned forest green, and his smile is so warm and loving. Dean’s gut twists up in his belly as Sam kisses him soft and sweet, and he floats into space.

Dean doesn’t need it, not the way you’d think, but when he’s dangling on the edge of oblivion with only Sam’s strong hands to anchor him, he thinks maybe it’s the only thing he’s ever truly wanted in his life.


End file.
